Zoe Page 13

  Yes, he loved her. And the realization terrified him.

  EF After he left, Zoé lay awake, her gaze on the ceiling. Such passion. She had never experienced anything like that in her life. Why wasn’t it like that the first time? Was it different like that because they were in love?

  In love?

  He said that he was in love with her.

  She reached down and pulled up the covers. She

  understood now that being a woman was not losing her virginity. Being a woman meant understanding her heart. Comte Julien La Roque was her heart and no matter where she went from here on, this night had been a magical one for her. This night, she fell completely in love. Turning on to her side and savoring the lingering aches from their lovemaking, she closed her eyes and welcomed sleep.

  EF La Roque rode in his carriage making a familiar journey. Silently, he looked out of its small window at the sunrise. The orange orb rising in the distance kissed his cheek with warmth, the same warmth he felt in her arms. His eyes dropped away. He’d left word for his guests that he would return around midday. It was a trip he had to make. The night before, he’d touched an angel and she had changed him. His feelings were so strong that he found himself rethinking every notion he’d held dear. He’d refused to allow love into his life and now it was consuming him. A visit with the devil that haunted him might free him from the hell that kept him from his beloved.

  The horsemen yelled at the horses to pick up speed and the carriage swayed as they rode through the countryside. He had not visited L’Endroit Aliéné in more than six months.

  The insane asylum was on the outskirts of Toulouse. Quite isolated, it housed some of the most pathetic and tortured souls in all of France. None could be more tortured than Count François La Roque, Julien’s father. His affliction was the source of Julien’s greatest turmoil. If Julien La Roque had any hopes of understanding his fears and desires, he would have to start here.

  The carriage pulled up to the main entrance of the asylum, a four-story stone building punctuated by small barred windows. The handsomely dressed horseman opened the door for La Roque to step through.

  La Roque exited with the stance of one whose appearance reflected his wealth and position in life. His long mane was held in a queue with a silk ribbon that matched the dark color of his top coat. The men working turned at the sight of him and flashed him a curious look.

  La Roque ignored their questioning eyes and tried to mask his terror. Each time he visited this place, fear and anxiety ruled over his emotions and he struggled to remain in control. Walking down the dark corridor with his coat tails flapping behind him, he felt as if his heart would leap from his chest. The asylum’s head-master came rushing out to greet him.

  “ Mon seigneur, we wish we had known of your visit in advance. We could have—”

  “Just take me to him,” he said.

  “Oui, mon seigneur,” the head-master said, nearly running at La Roque’s side to keep up with him.

  They turned the corner and he was confronted with the wails and screams of some of the most insane. He passed those that were crippled and quadriplegic. He stayed focused on his mission and tried to deafen himself to the pleas of the patients, who reached for him as he walked by. Outwardly, he remained calm, but inside he wanted to scream. This would never be his fate. The thought was so painful, he fought against displaying the intense emotions that engulfed him. He would not end up here!

  Arriving at his father’s cell door, he looked at the headmaster and nodded for him to open it.

  His father’s accommodations could be considered some of the most comfortable. La Roque spared no expense in making sure, at least in this self-imposed prison, his father was afforded the luxuries that his stature required.

  The guard pulled the large circular key ring from his belt, unlocked the iron door, and drew it open. La Roque walked in to see his father sitting in a chair facing a window. His hair, long and grey, hung down his back, making him appear to be more advanced in years than he actually was.

  La Roque cleared his throat. “Papa? ”

  François said nothing and La Roque knew this visit would be a difficult one. Some days were better than others. He grabbed a chair and pulled it near his father. There were so many emotional reflections of pain in his father’s face, the face that, once, so resembled his own. The burn marks on the side of his face were evidence of the sad tale of what drove him mad, and made him look more like a wicked warlock instead of a heartsick man. His hands were arthritic and gnarled. They had the same horrendous burned tissue as his face and were pinkish and wrinkled. His long silver beard matched his hair and added to the illusion of him being ancient and lost.

  “Papa, it’s me, your son. Can you look at me? ”

  François turned to his son and La Roque saw the only sign that indicated mental acuity: his father’s blazing blue eyes shone with recognition and sadness. At times, François seemed to be painfully aware of his lot in life and struggled for escape. It was his eyes that revealed this truth.

  “Julien? ” he whispered.

  “Oui, c’est moi.”

  The old count reached out and caressed his son’s face. He gave a weak smile, and La Roque realized his father was lucid enough to talk. “How are you? ” he asked.

  “They won’t let me see her,” his father said, his gaze dropping to the floor.

  La Roque felt his chest tighten. No matter how much his father progressed, he never let go of Marcela. “She’s not here.”

  “I hear her, at night. She cries for me. She tells me that she’s changed her mind and to come to her. She tells me that she was wrong and that she loves me. But they keep her from me. They think I’ll hurt her again. Please, Julien. Make them let me see her.”

  “All right. I will speak to them and tell them to let you see her.”

  “Thank you. Thank you, Julien.”

  La Roque hesitated. “I need to ask you a question, one I’ve never asked you before.”

  “Quoi?”

  “Did you love Maman? Was it choice or circumstance that caused you to marry? Was your marriage at any point satisfying for you? ”

  “I loved only Marcela. I was bound to your mother by obligation and duty. Marcela was all I wanted and I thought I was all she wanted. That is, until she taunted me with her affair and told me she would never love a man who had violated and enslaved her. It was your mother that enslaved me. It was my marriage that kept me trapped and made me treat Marcela as nothing more than a mistress. It was my own foolish greed that made me think I could have it all.” François closed his eyes. “Love is dangerous, Julien, especially for a man. You love a woman, you lose your soul.”

  “Father, I saw you.”

  François opened his eyes and frowned. “What did you see, Julien? ”

  “I saw you strike her when she told you of her affair with Jean-Luc. I saw her fall back against the hearth and the hem of her dress caught fire. I saw you step back and watch her burn.”

  “Non! I tried to stop the fire! I tried to save her!”

  La Roque didn’t respond. He remembered that horrible scene so clearly. After his father’s wanderings kept his mother weeping, Julien decided to seek him out. Following him to the forbidden lair where he kept Marcella, he hid at the side window. When brave enough to peer inside the glass, he lay witness to his father’s greatest crime.

  His father had stood there, transfixed, as Marcela ignited in flames. She beat at her skirts, terrified, then ran through the room, screaming in agony, knocking over furniture that ignited as well. François didn’t move, perhaps also prepared to die. La Roque had run into the burning house to pull his father out. When François saw his son, his trance broke and he threw himself on Marcela to try to extinguish the flames, burning himself in the process. Julien dragged him from the house, kicking and screaming.

  If the events of that night weren’t enough to traumatize young Julien, what ensued certainly did. His mother’s subsequent cover-up and d
isposal of his father clued him in to the coldness of their marriage. Then a few months shy of his majority and soon to be the man of the house, Julien La Roque fought not to have his father sent away, but even he had to admit that the man was broken and catatonic. The bond between mother and son was forever broken. He didn’t even weep at her burial, just years later. Yet he missed and longed for her still.

  And thus, he had seen the cruelty of women. How dangerous it was to give your heart or trust to them. Both women in his father’s life cared little for his well-being. The one woman he’d chosen to love had pushed him beyond his breaking point by her salacious behavior. And his mother’s offense was far greater. For when Julien had hoped to care for his father at their home, she had him committed to this cage and left him to rot in his insanity.

  Now La Roque looked around the dark room that housed a cot against the wall and a small reading table on the other side and shivered. He vowed to never suffer the same fate. He would never be his father. Eventually, he might be forced to marry in order to preserve his line, but he would never allow a woman to destroy him this way. He would never trust in something as dangerous as love, believing that it brought about happiness. He was stronger and more in control. He had desires, yes, and he was in love, but to continue would only further empower his Zoé and that would be a dire mistake. He could never give her power over him. Never!

  François looked over at his son. “Are you happy? ”

  “Assez bien.” Well enough.

  Francois, imprisoned in his mind, probed further. “Have you seen her? ”

  His father’s moment of clarity had passed. He was again asking for his dead mistress, still haunted by her screams. La Roque rose from his chair ready to end the visit. “She’s dead.”

  “No, she can never be dead! She’s to be with me always. If you see her, tell her that I love her. I will always love her.”

  La Roque patted the old man’s shoulder. “I will.”

  “Thank you,” his father said and turned back to the window.

  La Roque walked toward the door and looked back at his father. He didn’t know why he had come. He’d gained nothing new and only worsened his fears. He guessed that a small part of him wanted to believe that all was not lost, that somewhere his father still existed outside of his pain and guilt.

  Now he knew that he was wrong.

  EF Zoé sat in the parlor, listening as her father and Flynn Sheridan discussed politics. She watched as the snake with two black eyes charmed her father by romanticizing his life in America. Sheridan even said that the South was changing and that Negroes were progressing, with some of them able to buy their freedom and own land. He said that he heard that in New Orleans an entire faction of le gens de couleur known as Creoles owned property and even held political office.

  The tall tales fascinated her father, but they didn’t sway Zoé. Sheridan would look at her from time to time and give her a smug smile. She could only grit her teeth and wish that La Roque would return and end the tiresome charade.

  “ Monsieur Sheridan,” her father said, “I have to say I misjudged you and your intentions. It’s been my experience that Southern gentlemen were not adaptable to change.”

  “Completely understandable, and I will admit it took some time for the evolution, but I have learned so much in the past years.”

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if we all went to America as a family after the wedding? ” Marianne said. “I want to go.”

  Bouchard touched his daughter’s hand, painfully aware that his failing health would consume him before any of that could happen. “Maybe your new husband can take you.”

  Madame shifted uncomfortably in her chair and turned to Zoé. “We must speak.” She paused for Zoé’s nod, and got to her feet. “Gentlemen, excuse us. Marianne, why don’t you entertain your father and Monsieur Sheridan with a song? ”

  Obedient, Marianne went to the piano while Zoé followed Madame out of the salon. They walked down the corridor in silence and stepped into the salon for privacy. Madame closed the door and Zoé braced herself. Madame had been flashing her hateful looks all morning and Zoé had no idea why. She had tried to follow Madame’s orders. Now it didn’t matter. She would tell father the truth soon and she needed to make Madame aware of that as well.

  “Sit down,” Madame said pointing to a sofa seat.

  Zoé, in her lavender gown, walked over and sat down. Madame paced in her long black gown. She looked as if she were in mourning.

  “Your father is not buying your act, Zoé, and I think that is your intention.”

  “Papa just wants what’s best for me.”

  “So you know of his plans to marry you off to Claude Chafer? ”

  “Oui.”

  “And? ”

  “Madame,” Zoé hesitated. “I plan to tell Papa the truth. This is my fault and I would never let him be humiliated by my deeds.”

  Madame gasped. “You can’t be serious.”

  “But I am. I want Papa’s respect. A lie on top of my foolish indiscretion only cheapens me and destroys the trust we share.”

  Madame laughed. “You foolish girl! Do you think that telling the truth helps you reclaim some of this so-called ‘respect’? You’re a stupid, insolent, naïve, and reckless wench. If you cared for your father’s respect, you wouldn’t have given in to La Roque. There is nothing you can do now to redeem yourself.”

  Zoé winced and looked at the floor. “That may be true, but I still plan to spare Marianne the humiliation of marrying a man who doesn’t love her.”

  Madame drew in her breath. She walked over to a window, and stood there, looking out. “There is something you should know.”

  Zoé felt the stirrings of a new unease. Was it possible that something else had gone wrong?

  Madame turned around with tears in her eyes. “C’est ton père. Il est malade.” It’s your father. He’s ill.

  “Quoi?”

  “He has a heart condition. He’s been taking medication for it for a year, now. That’s why he is working so hard to secure a future for you and Marianne.”

  Zoé felt her chest tighten. She rose from her seat. “You’re lying.”

  “Non. C’est vrai.” Madame straightened up and blinked back her tears. “If you tell him of your indiscretion, you could very well kill him.”

  “Mais—”

  “Listen to me. I won’t lose my husband to your foolish deeds. You will find a way to convince him of this arrangement.”

  “But it is too late. Comte La Roque has told me that he will not marry Marianne. Whether I tell Papa the truth or not, he won’t marry her. If he doesn’t marry her, then Papa will pair me off with Claude Chafer and the scandal alone could kill him.”

  “Then you find a way to fix this. You find a way to make the count marry your sister. It’s the only way.”

  “I can’t. It’s beyond me now. His heart is not in it. He will not do it.”

  “If you don’t, your father’s death will be on your hands.”

  “There may be another way,” Zoé implored. Madame frowned. “What other way could there be? ”

  Zoé hesitated. “We are in love. The count might ask for my hand instead.”

  Madame was so startled her jaw dropped. Then she erupted in laughter. Zoé blushed. Madame laughed so until she could barely catch her breath.

  “Are you mad? ” she gasped.

  “No!” Zoé jumped to her feet. “Le Comte and I are in love!”

  Madame’s laughter vanished. Her eyes narrowed as she advanced toward her stepdaughter.

  “Are you stupid enough to still be in his bed? C’est ça, n’est-ce pas? He tells you pretty words and you sneak around in the night, pleasing him. You’re denser than I thought.”

  Zoé slapped Madame across the face. For a moment, there was a shocked silence at the abrupt rebellion. Zoé was stunned at what she had done, but she knew she would not back down. Madame held her jaw and looked at Zoé in horror.

  “You dare str
ike me? ”

  Zoé screamed hysterically. “I won’t allow you to talk to me like that. I won’t take it from you any longer!”

  “I ought to tell your father, just to see you suffer his death, and then ship you off to America with that creature in the parlor.”

  Zoé paled. She realized that she had declared war on the woman who controlled her fate. If anything ever happened to Papa…

  “Please, no! I—”

  “Save it! You will regret the moment you dared raise a hand to me. You either barter the marriage of your sister to La Roque or I will barter you!”

  Madame turned and stalked out.

  Zoé buried her face in her hands and wept. She was lost and had no idea how to save herself and her father. With each day, the aftershocks of her love affair with the count rippled through her world, threatening to destroy everything she held dear.

  EF La Roque arrived home to find everyone entertained. Bouchard and Sheridan were playing a friendly game of chess while Madame sat reading her Bible. Marianne sat at the piano, playing a sweet but forgettable melody. It was she who first noticed him standing in the doorway. She jumped up and ran to greet him.

  “You’ve returned!” she cried.

  “Indeed,” he said to her, and then gave everyone else a nod and greeting. For a moment, his gaze dwelled on Bouchard and Sheridan and he felt a distinct prickle of anxiety.

  “Where’s your sister? ” he asked Marianne. Madame looked up from her Bible. “The last time I saw her, she was in the library. She had found a volume of poems she wanted to ask you about. Perhaps, you might retrieve her.”

  “Yes , let’s join her,” Marianne said, slipping her hand around his arm.

  Madame spoke up. “But Marianne, dear, you must finish that lovely song you were playing.”

  Marianne pouted. “But I will only be a minute.”

  “Marianne!” Madame snapped.